A Handful of Dust
by River of Oblivion
Summary: "Oh, misery, misery! Again comes on me   The terrible labor of true prophecy, dizzying prelude."


_AN: I haven't played through the entirety of ME3 yet, as I spoiled myself and read about the endings, and am now frightened by what my reaction might be when I actually see them on the screen. That being said, I am in love with the majority of this game, and I wanted to capture Shepard's feelings pregame as she stands on the precipice of war. Also, I have to add that I was pleasantly surprised to see that other authors had noticed the similarity between Shepard and Cassandra. Either we're fellow mythology buffs or we're fellow literature buffs. Either way I salute is my first foray into Mass Effect fanfiction, so let me know how I did!_

_Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me; Bioware owns all._

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><p><em>And I will show you something different from either <em>  
><em>Your shadow at morning striding behind you <em>  
><em>Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; <em>  
><em>I will show you fear in a handful of dust.<em>

_-T.S Eliot_

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><p>It's too quiet in her quarters on Earth, the bed is too soft, and the food is too rich.<p>

As she lies awake staring at the ceiling, Shepard can almost convince herself the unfamiliarity of it all is why she can't sleep. Giving in with a sigh, she slides out from under the covers and pads over to the window, her bare feet silent on the thinly carpeted floor. It's one of those rare nights when the stars aren't obscured by a thick layer of clouds, and the land is bathed in the glow of the moon.

She has traveled millions of light years, visited dozens of other worlds, but nothing compares to Earth. Its diversity is what makes it stand out from every other planet. From the frozen tundra and snow-capped mountains to the vast expanses of scorching deserts and rain-drenched forests, it is, in a word, beautiful. Tonight it carries on as it always has, unaware and as yet untouched by the nightmare that lurks less than a mass relay away. This illusion of peace will not last long.

Ash's God was right; the world will end in fire.

It's something she knows with a horrible certainty, a knowledge gained through visions of another race's destruction.

_Fear _blood painlossgriefpanicruinfire.__

It's there more nights than not, just waiting for her to close her eyes.

She is Cassandra reborn, cursed with a terrible foresight which no one believes. Time and time again, her predictions have been met with disinterest and derision, even from those she trusts most. The images flash through her mind, each memory blurring into the next.

Exposing Saren's crimes in front of the council.

Breaking the terrifying news that Sovereign was a Reaper.

Warning the same council who should have known she wasn't prone to inventing fanciful stories of the connection between the Collectors and the Reapers.

Trying desperately to explain to Kaidan that using Cerberus was the only way to stop atrocities like the one that had happened on Horizon.

_Thought you were dead…thought we had something…loved you…betrayed the Alliance…betrayed me…goodbye._

She winces, the memory tugging at the puckered edges of the tear in her soul that refuses to fully mend. The other times had made her frustrated and angry, but that one, that one _hurt._ The distrust and revulsion on his face is seared in her mind for her to replay over and over again.

Part of her is still livid over his accusations, while another part of her understands where he was coming from. Then there's a little voice, one that slithers into her consciousness at quiet times like these, which whispers that he could have been right. She is not a traitor or a ghost, but she is terrified that the Shepard from Eden Prime, from Virmire, from Ilos, no longer exists. Her stomach roils as she thinks about the decision to destroy the Alpha Relay. Is she the same person? Would the Shepard she'd been before Cerberus have sacrificed 300,000 civilians in a desperate attempt to buy some time?

She might have been able to catch the crumbling pieces of her life had her hands not been holding a gun. There hadn't been the time or the energy to expend on fixing herself or mending bridges instead of watching them burn. And now?

Clenching the hands she hadn't known were shaking, she tells herself it doesn't matter. There's enough of the Shepard she was to enable her to do what she needs to do. The Reapers are coming, and she is one of a handful of people who understand the threat. The stakes couldn't be higher, and odds are she won't have to worry about who or what she is for much longer. There won't be another resurrection, and she can't help but feel a sense of relief. She is due for some rest, after all; and one way or another she'll get it. Not that she'll go quietly, oh no. She scoffs at the utter ridiculousness of such a notion. If this war is to be her end, she'll make it an end to remember.

She may no longer formally wear the title, but she is still Commander Shepard. She escaped the Batarian slavers on Mindoir, witnessed the slaughter of her entire unit on Akuze, brought down a Reaper as the Citadel burned around her, and while she hadn't quite survived the skies over Alchera, death wasn't as permanent as previously advertised. She may be bruised, and she may be bent, but she is not broken. She is a survivor, a fighter, and she refuses to sit back and watch as the galaxy is destroyed. She doesn't know if they can win, but if they fail it certainly won't be for a lack of effort.

There are dark clouds starting to gather on the horizon, and she knows it won't be long until they roll in and obscure her view of the stars.

How terribly cliché.

Shaking her head with a tired smile, Shepard pulls her desk chair over to the window. She knows she should at least try to get some sleep, but she doesn't want to deal with what she might see when she closes her eyes. Sweet dreams and nightmares alike are cruel in their own ways, and after the emotional ringer she's put herself through tonight, she doesn't need the added heartache.

She tries to tell herself it will all look better in the morning, but she knows that's a lie. There's nothing she can do, no preparations she can make after having been stripped of her command, but that isn't a situation she can remedy at this hour.

Daylight will come soon enough.

Tonight, she'll just watch the storm roll in.


End file.
